


two-sided

by lenardo_09



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenardo_09/pseuds/lenardo_09
Summary: Park never was good with the "emotions" thing.
Relationships: Crypto | Park Tae Joon/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	two-sided

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus, finally. It took me a month to write this. 
> 
> Anyway, shoutout to the wonderful helloheadquarters on Tumblr for the wonderful request. Go read their stuff. It's so wonderful. 
> 
> Also, I've officially given up on the tagging system and I'll only tag shit if it's a necessity. Other than that, I hope you enjoy!!!

The music that was once blaring and loud enough to be heard all across the arena had been lowered to an appropriate volume—and Elliott’s sure it's because one of the speakers ended up pushed off of the Voy’age. _Thanks, Octavio._ The lights continued on in their erratic fashion, and the dancing decoys remained as they were. The decor was messed up, however, and the trickster had to pull himself over the counter to see just where everyone was. 

Bloodhound, Nox, Anita, Revenant, and Loba had declined Elliott’s invitation to party on the Mirage Voy’age after a week of not having it present, and, though he was surprised to see Loba decline, he wasn't particularly upset about it. Makoa and Octavio were enough to liven the party up without much help, Renee was fun to mess around with and was teetering just on the edge of getting his foot stabbed most of the night, Natalie was fun to hang around with if one wanted non-drunk fun, and Ajay was keeping everyone from killing themselves. Pathfinder was nice to have around as well, handing out drinks and chatting up anyone he came across. 

Elliott was delightfully surprised to see Park take him up on his invitation, even if he was hellbent on not being seen intoxicated. He had spent a majority of the time stowed away in a corner of the Voy’age, sat on a couch and simply relaxing. His eyes were focused on the sky, and he looked peaceful, even with the party going on behind him. 

Eventually, though, he was drawn into the atmosphere with some poking and prodding from Natalie. She had sat by him at some point, going on and on about just how _superior_ her technology was, and Park, the competitive bastard he was, quickly took up the argument and spent about ten minutes in a battle of wits before Renee shoved drinks in both of their faces and told them to shut it. 

It took about three drinks and Park ended up at the trickster’s bar, and, were it not for the way he talked and the smile on his face, Elliott would've assumed he was just a bit flushed. 

Still, Park wasn't the type of drunk he thought he'd be. He laughed at just about everything Elliott said, even the admittedly unfunny jokes he spouted in a moment of nervousness, and was coherent enough to know to still keep things to himself (he still wants to know his favorite color—totally unfair!). He wasn't the depressed drunk he assumed he'd be, and, for some reason, he's a bit thankful for that. It was nice seeing the hacker let loose a bit. 

However, one drinking competition with Octavio and one embarrassing attempted makeout session with his decoy later, Elliott found himself surveying the damage to his beautiful boat. Some of his pictures were askew in their frames, and the notes he had pinned to boards were on the floor. The hot tub had a sleeping Octavio in it with a lampshade on his head (ah, classic), and, beside the tub, was Pathfinder, pretending to sleep. He swears to fucking _god_ he saw Revenant peeking out from the area where a zip-line was located, but he's pretty sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. 

On the floor where one of his decoys was making pork chops, Ajay was leaned against the counter, checking her phone, one of the few who hadn't consumed alcohol. Makoa was sitting where Park had been before his conversation with Natalie, sleeping on the couch. It appeared Renee and Natalie had left, actually, because Elliott didn't see either of them around. 

Park was sleeping on the floor beside Elliott’s counter, and, frankly, he has no clue as to how he got down there and why—he _was_ sitting in a stool. 

Whatever. He didn't care. The kid was gonna wake up uncomfortable, confused and angry, so he decided to do him a favor. 

Carefully, Elliott made his way over to the slumbering hacker and, somehow, managed to get him onto his back (kid weighed about as much as a sack of potatoes). Ajay had come back up to the main room where his decoys were still dancing, where the hot tub was located, and huffed out a quiet laugh, courteous of the sleeping Legends. 

“Careful. If ya drop him, he's probably gonna kick ya ass,” the medic said, walking over to where Octavio was sleeping. 

“Oh, s’fine, ‘kay? I got it,” the trickster slurred—and maybe he was still a _little_ drunk. “Don't stay up too late.”

“And don't do nuthin’ ya’ll regret.”

With that small exchange out of the way, Elliott made his way back to the drop ship that was awaiting them, about as quiet as he could be. Everyone there was probably asleep, and disturbing Nox was just a death sentence. He'd prefer to not end up as one of his _experiments._ Thanks, but no thanks. 

Elliott's room was the closest, so the trickster decided he didn't want to make an extra trip and just maneuvered over to his room. The door was left open just a crack, and the lights were off. Perfect. Just as he left it. 

Gently pushing the door open with the toe of his boot, he made his way inside and squinted through the darkness. His room was kept clean, never an article of clothing out of place. He wasn't concerned about a mess causing him to fall over, but there was always that underlying fear he accidentally left something out and he was about to slam into the ground with one hundred and thirty pounds on his back. 

Park wasn't a heavy weight, but he was still _weight._

Carefully, the sleeping surveillance expert was deposited onto the plush surface of his bed. He removed Park’s jacket and his boots, just to make his sleep a little more comfortable. Elliott himself just removed his shoes, already in just a shirt and pants, and, without any real thought for the consequences, laid down beside the other. 

And just like that, he was out like a light. 

— ;

When Park awoke, it was to a splitting headache and a faintly familiar room. Its focus on yellow immediately gave way to who the owner was, and, if that wasn't enough, the figurines and merchandise were a dead giveaway. 

The hacker slowly got up, the mattress beneath him shifting with his movements, and looked to where another person was snoring away—and, lo and behold, it was Elliott. Normally, he would be freaked out at the prospect of waking in someone's bed having been intoxicated the night prior, but Elliott was as harmless as a fly. Though they had a rivalry going on, which, recently, had been mellowing out a bit, the trickster was never malicious to the hacker. Sure, he could be a little annoying and teasing, but Park had never felt threatened around him—well, aside from their first meeting. 

But that was a can of worms he'd rather not acknowledge right now. They can remain in the corner Revenant probably sits in when he's trying to freak Elliott out when he's especially bored. 

Hazel eyes fall to focus on the man beside him, looking over every handsome feature in his expression. Park was fine with admitting someone was handsome—Elliott was attractive, and that was fine. It wasn't as if he desired to run his fingers through curly brown locks, see if they felt as soft as they looked, or stare into warm chocolate pools, get lose in the stars in his eyes, maybe indulge in the strength of those arms in a warm embrace, or perhaps—

His train of thought came to a screeching halt, promptly crashed, and he's sure dozens of IQ points died in that crash. He _did_ want to do that, didn't he? He _did_ want to be… 

The sound of something shifting caught his attention, gaze snapping back to the man beside him. He was awake now, blearily staring up at him, squinting, momentarily confused, before realization dawned. 

“Mornin’…” he tiredly mumbled, and Park _despised—_ yes, _despised—_ his rough voice, cracking from just waking up, and he hated—absolutely resented the fact that he _liked_ it. 

And, instead of acting like a rational adult, his face heated up in anger, clenching the bedsheets between fingers, and yelling, “You're such an idiot!” 

His outburst was then proceeded by the hacker pushing himself off of the man’s bed, marching to the door, slamming it open so hard it hit the wall, and left Elliott nursing a near blinding agony in his skull. 

He blinked, staring at the door, before flopping back down into the pillows. _Great._ Just when he thought he and Park were finally getting on good terms. The kid was always hard to read, but he thought—

“Fuck,” was muttered into his now empty room, pitiful and broken. 

— ;

It isn't Elliott that notices a shift—it's _Park_ that sees everything suddenly become… distant, cold. 

His and Mirage’s banter is reduced to nothing but simple communication, and, even when the trickster is talking with other teammates, he's curt and quick, to the point, _blunt—_ and Park is certain he hates it. 

Elliott’s bright, sunny disposition is cloudy, storm clouds hiding that dazzling smile. The technician hates admitting it, but he's genuinely beginning to miss hearing the man’s laugh, hear him say… _anything,_ really. 

It becomes blatantly obvious something is wrong when he attempts to banter _—“What’s wrong, old man? Can't keep up?”—_ and is only met with cold silence, a simple shrug after the revival syringe is plunged into him and he's already begun recharging shields. It hits like a hammer to the skull, makes him ache, and—dammit, this wasn't supposed to _happen._

Mila had always told him he was too cold to the people he attempted to date, told him he needed to loosen up a bit if he ever wanted to keep someone interested. Communicating feelings always appeared so frightening a concept, so he opted for showing affection how he always has: friendly jabs that never had any real malice. He supposes calling someone “stupid” came off as incredibly rude, which is probably why Elliott was so angry with him. Not to mention his outburst was… childish. 

And he did try to remedy it—being nice wasn't his strong suit, but he tried. Really, he shouldn't. This was secretly a blessing in disguise. If Elliott hated him, he could get over him easier and he wouldn't have to subject the man who's already lost so much in one lifetime the horrors of his own rotten life. 

… But could he really live with knowing the one man he potentially has any feelings for hated him?

… No. 

He had tried cooking the man a meal, but it ended up with a fire and Makoa having to run in with a fire extinguisher to put it out. Baking didn't go well either. Ajay was pretty peeved about the mess. Showing off in the arena wasn't helping much either, and Anita was beginning to think he was a monkey-brained show-off like Octavio and Elliott—and that certainly wasn't the case. Bloodhound had noticed his struggle and inquired about the mess. Since they were the only other person he trusted, he decided to be honest with them. 

Their wisdom was simple: “Tell him how you feel.”

Honestly, who did Bloodhound think he was—someone capable of conveying simple emotions? As if. 

Still, nothing was working, and he's sure Elliott is simply becoming more and more upset with him. He hated how much Elliott’s feelings mattered to him—it was stupid, letting some flashy moron’s opinion mean the world to him. He hated how knowing the man hated him just ate him up inside, made sleep evade him even more than usual, distracted him from his computer and working on his drone. He didn't know what to do, and it was simply growing more and more difficult to deal with it. 

No one wanted to get involved. He didn't want them to anyway. He didn't want anyone saying something that would only worsen the situation, didn't want useless advice that would just backfire in the end. He was tired, hungry, and irritated, and, frankly, he's never felt more defeated in his life. Well, maybe—he's not Witt; he really needs to quit exaggerating and being dramatic. 

It was a few days after that incident—that's what felt most appropriate to say—after fruitless attempts at remedying whatever friendship he had left with Elliott, did something finally occur on the trickster’s end. 

Park had been in his room, watching his cat carry around some small fish toy he didn't remember buying for her, absentmindedly playing with his puzzle cube. An annoyed knock came from the other side of the door, and he assumed it was Ajay coming back to get him to eat something and get a little sunshine. He didn't want either at this point, and, as soon as he opened the door, he prepared himself for more yelling. 

But the eyes staring back at him were not Ajay’s. They were Elliott’s. 

He couldn't wipe the shock from his expression, staring at the man who wouldn't even look in his direction for more than two seconds. He didn't know if this was bad or good or not, all things considered. He could already feel his pessimism act up, telling him Elliott’s just here to tell him to buzz off, that he's sick of hearing his lame attempts at salvaging this _—whatever_ it is. 

“Kim.” Last name basis. Not a good sign. “I think it's time we talked.”

“Right,” was his near inaudible reply, looking into his room. Dark, dreadful, not a single source of light in his room for the moment. He looked back at Elliott. “Did you want to… come in?”

“Yeah.”

Stiff. Suffocating. The air felt uncomfortable once Elliott entered his room, his feline companion sensing this and fleeing to under the bed, fish toy still in her teeth. Elliott sat down on his bed whilst Park sat in his computer chair. Awkward, uninviting. The hacker was beginning to feel anxious, watching as Elliott tried collecting his thoughts. His eyes were focused on the carpet below, faintly hearing Park’s cat purr. 

“… You're fucking weird, you know that?” was his first statement—and so far so good. His gaze was now directed at the hacker, the smaller of the two blank as a slate of concrete. “I spend months trying to be your friend, you're getting all nice and friendly and we're having fun—then you get all pissy, yell at me, and leave. And _after_ you get all pissy and leave, I stop talking to you, and you're suddenly acting like you want my attention again. What's your deal?”

There was anger in the trickster’s voice—rightfully so. It wasn't exactly fair to him—that Park’s inability to assess his own feelings was beginning to negatively affect him now. He hated knowing he couldn't convey what he felt. 

“I…” _English, please don't fail me now._ “I don't know—”

“You don't know? Aren't you a _genius?_ ” the trickster asked, almost sarcastic to the point Park could physically feel it. “Spit it out, Kim. What's going on in that big brain of yours?”

“I don't _know._ Forcing an answer isn't going to—”

“Here, I've got an answer. You hate me, but you _love_ messing with me! ‘It's just Elliott, the idiot no one likes! He doesn't have feelings!’”

“That's not—”

“Doesn't feel that way!” The trickster pushed himself off of Park’s bed, hands thrown up in a dramatic gesture of defeat, walking around the room, looking everywhere but Park. “I thought I finally had a friend—or something close enough! Ab—Asb—A—Fuck it! I'm not putting that much effort into something for you.”

Now it was Park’s turn to push himself off of his chair, like some dramatic scene in a movie—and it was getting there, the eventual cliché twist about to veer its ugly head. “Elliott, just let me explain—”

“Explain what!? Tell me, Kim! What's your fucking issue with me!”

“I have no issue—”

“Then _what!?_ ”

“I—I'm in _love_ with you!”

It almost happened too suddenly for him to process what exactly was happening. His back was being shoved into his desk so hard the monitors were shaking, and fingers were digging bruises into his hips. Lips were on his, and he could taste the strong lingering trace of whiskey. Those hands were now moving up, into his hoodie, feeling warm hands on tanned skin. Elliott had slotted himself between spread legs, and Park was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded. 

There wasn't anything particularly romantic about the kiss, nothing like the movies. It was bruising lips, teeth colliding, biting and tongues fighting. It was out of desperation, for what Park admitted to be right, the truth, something that evades the man every moment he's awake. It was raw, vulnerable—a side of Elliott many don't get the opportunity to witness. 

He could feel tears on his cheeks, ones that weren't his own, and when they parted, breathless, Elliott shoved himself closer, nosing at the small area where his shoulder met the synthetic flesh on his neck. He knew he was crying, and he didn't blame him. His own incompetence has probably caused him a lot of pain. 

“Say it's true…” Elliott whispered into his skin, feeling the breath wash over him. His arms tightened around his midsection, a gesture of need, of want. 

“It’s true,” was easily said back, his own arms coming up to wrap around Elliott’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “I promise it's true. I’d never lie about that.”

“I love you too…”

And how easily it was said, like a dam at its breaking point, spilling over all of the stored away love that took a lifetime of agony to let free. Park was still, silent, letting Elliott hold him, know this was real and not another one of the illusions he's become so accustomed to. 

The room was quiet. Unspoken promises were held in the air, suspended by string, a reminder that he wasn't about to let Elliott suffer in the quiet anymore. 

He pressed his lips to the trickster’s temple, let the warmth linger, before resting his head against the other, brushing a hand along his still shaking back. 

It wasn't perfect, but nothing was; his life was too fucked up to care anyway. 


End file.
